Vengeance is Mine Sayeth Dean Winchester
by Giacinta2
Summary: No-one takes Sammy! One-shot. Gen.


The warehouse contained a treasure, the only one important to the dark shadow prowling the external boundaries of the decrepit building, his eyes busy assessing its vulnerability; its entrances and exits.

But even if there had been only one way in, it would have made no difference. He'd have breached the gates of Hell if necessary, unmindful of any danger to himself.

Luckily he'd noticed various points of possible entry on the south-facing side where the wooden panels had contracted with the heat of innumerable summers.

He listened for a moment, his ears straining to pick up sounds from beyond the wall that divided him from his prize.

Then he heard it, a strangled sob of pain.

He allowed himself a smile, but to anyone who might have witnessed the curling of his lips, 'smile' wouldn't have been the word used to describe it. The comparison to the ghastly facsimile of a crocodile's grin before its razor sharp teeth ripped through your body, would have been more apt.

:

:

Dean Winchester was outside. Sam Winchester was inside.

Dean Winchester was armed and dangerous. Sam Winchester was disarmed and in danger.

That didn't sit at all well with the elder Winchester. It was a situation he was going to set right.

:

His little brother had been taken from him more than once, but the ache that burned through his gut each time remained the same.

He'd yelled his rage at the Benders. Vowed he'd kill them all if they hurt his brother.

Back then, it hadn't fallen to him, Sam had managed all on his own with the help of a female police officer, but the vengeance he'd wreak on anyone who dared deprived him of his brother was as fierce now as ever.

Only if Sammy was unhurt would the fools who dared lay a finger on his brother die cleanly, otherwise Dean knew a million intriguing ways of inflicting pain. Hell and Alastair were excellent teachers.

In either case, souls would be reaped today, neither of which would be his or Sam's.

:

Silent as the hunters after which his ilk were named, Dean found his way in, and stealthy as a daeva came to stand behind the man who was looming over his shackled brother; the man causing Sam to emit the choking grunts he'd heard from outside.

"We didn't manage the last time," a familiar voice sneered while throwing another punch at Sam's already ravaged face.

"You Winchesters are like vermin, chop off your head and you grow a new one. Back then I knew you two were a danger to the world, to the existence of us all, and nothing's happened since to make me change my mind. Coming back from the dead isn't something any human can do," he continued, cupping Sam's chin so as to meet the younger Winchester's eyes. Eyes that still glowed defiantly hazel despite the copious amount of blood staining his face and neck. "...so that makes you and your brother non-human; and we're in the business of exterminating those!"

:

The ass-hole had been getting his rocks off torturing his baby brother. The fucker was meat!

There was no doubt in Dean's mind, no hand to hold him back, no reason that could be given to warrant any harm being inflicted on Sam.

No-one got to rip his baby brother from his side, to hurt him, not even God himself.

Dean hadn't had the pleasure yet, but he'd met His closest henchmen, from Joshua through the angels to Michael himself; most of them incompetent douche-bags who hadn't been savvy enough to eliminate the Winchesters.

He'd reserve judgement on the Big Man himself until the absent god returned, if he ever did.

In the meantime he'd take back what belonged to him.

:

He called out the moron's name "Walt!", holding back his attack until the man turned, wanting his smirking expression to be the last image to register on the douche's retinas before Dean ended his squalid existence.

With no more compunction, than swatting a fly, Dean plunged his knife through the ass-hole's gut, twisting it almost gleefully, pulling it out disdainfully as his victim fell to the floor in a crumpled agonising heap.

But it wasn't yet over!

In one lithe motion, the elder Winchester turned, deflecting the butt of the rifle Walt's partner Roy had incautiously put to his back.

The bullet shot uncontrolled from the barrel, narrowly missing Sam, and so contributing to increase Dean's rage.

Before the unfortunate man could open his mouth, Dean's knife slit his throat, and whatever Roy's last words might have been were lost amid the bloody froth spurting from his neck.

:

Dean forgot about the two men, the one dead and the other clutching his gut in dying agony, and went to Sam.

"Dean, " Sam murmured, the four-lettered word more eloquent than an entire speech. Like the mythical Tardis it occupied little space but within was contained the emotional impact of a tsunami, both for the the one that voiced it and the one to whom it was addressed.

As of yet they still had to say those three little words, the ones their entire life had been an expression of; boundless, unbridled and immense.

:

"I gottcha Sammy," Dean replied, cupping his brother's face to better access any damage. His sibling had been beaten savagely but he wasn't in danger of death. They had wanted to keep him alive as bait for what they considered the older, more dangerous brother.

'Well, they sure got that right,' Dean mused silently, though he was in no doubt whatsoever if he'd been the kidnapped one, Sam would have kicked butt just as competently.

The shackles had a stout lock and Dean bent to pat down the dead men's clothes until he felt the raised form of a key-ring.

The welts on Sam's wrists were bloody and raw. His little brother had done his best to get free, but only Houdini could have gotten out of those!

:

"Come on, dude. Let's get you back to the Impala. Gotta patch you up! The way Roy here fixed your face clashes with the legendary Winchester good looks."

Sam rolled his swollen eyes, which was just about all he was up for.

He leaned unashamedly into his big brother, allowing Dean to practically drag him along.

There was no embarrassment. The Winchesters used physical closeness as an alterative substitute for those elusive three little words, but one day they would be voiced, though they'd be but the cherry on the cake of the unquenchable bond these brothers shared..

:

The end


End file.
